The Promise We Made
by her-little-musings
Summary: Meet Loki: A guy whose plans usually work, except when they don't. Meet Darcy: A girl who just wants to know where her husband went and why her front door is hammered in half. Along the way, their story unfolds.
1. Prologue

"Thor Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to preserve the peace?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?"

"I swear."

Loki's jaw tightened at that last bit as he refrained from clenching his fist; it would be unsightly for the prince of Asgard to be seen in such a bitter state at the coronation of his brother, but he projected his feelings quite clearly when it came to Thor.

Yes, he did love Thor. But he was in no way suited for the throne that everyone believed him to be. He was arrogant, reckless, and dangerous; certainly not the material for a king.

But this was _Thor_ he was talking about, and if there was one thing Thor had that Loki didn't, it was blind charisma. Charisma was what allowed Thor to get away with anything he wanted, and it was charisma that led to this event that he was currently partaking in.

_Both of you were born to be king, but only one of you may rise to the throne_.

Odin was a fool to feed his children those lies. Years of brotherly competition gradually turned into an agonizing one-sided animosity. Did he want to be king? In truth, no. Loki was fully aware of his nature-an introvert and a predilection for magic that he preferred to keep under wraps. However, it didn't mean he disregarded power. He craved power just as much as Thor desired a good fight, but Loki's reasons were much more personal.

"Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather proclaim you—" Odin stopped as a far off look came into his eye, and Loki held his breath. Right on time.

"Frost giants…" Odin murmured and quickly bounded for the vault, Gungnir in hand. Thor raced after him, as did the Warriors Three, and Loki trailed behind with just enough briskness in his step to show concern.

The Destroyer was already out by the time they reached the vault, but the numbers of Frost Giants were pouring in and the Warriors Three looked about in shock.

"Where are they coming from?!" Fandral said, nonplussed as he drew his sword.

"Does it matter? Kill them!" Sif replied, already swinging her weapon and tag teaming with Volstagg. Thor was on the opposite end trying to find how they were getting in, swinging his hammer, taking out as many Frost Giants as possible.

Odin stood at the front of the vault, looking mildly shocked as he safe guarded the vault humming words of enchantment. Loki gritted his teeth in frustration; he asked for a distraction, not a battle!

Drawing his daggers, he launched one at a charging Frost Giant that was running towards Odin, and it landed squarely in its stomach, rendering it immobile.

"Don't let them touch you!" Fandral shouted as he limped and cradled his left arm that was scalded. Volstagg shoved him out of the way as he swung his mace in a circular motion, knocking a Frost Giant in back of Loki.

"Watch out!" Thor barked, and Loki spun around to throw another dagger, but the Frost Giant caught his arm. Loki braced himself, and held his breath, but the pain didn't come and a blue pigment crawled up his skin. This wasn't just blue, Loki realized with horror as the raised markings formed along his arms. Before he could process another moment, Thor hit the Frost Giant in the back of the head, causing him to go limp.

"Loki…" Thor said, but Loki was still examining his arm as it faded back into his normal color. He swallowed, questions brimming through his mind, but he knew this wasn't the time.

"ENOUGH!" Odin slammed Gungnir against the floor, causing a shake and a surge of light reverberated against the vault. The Frost Giants fell back; most were already wounded and for a moment, everything was still, save for heavy breaths.

"Laufey." Odin whispered, staff still in hand as he advanced towards an aimless black space behind a pillar.

"Allfather," replied a raspy voice, cloaked in the shadows. The Warriors Three went still, and Thor went to join Odin's side.

"Show yourself!" Thor demanded, but Odin held his arm out to silence him.

"How did your people get into Asgard?"

"There are traitors in the house of Odin," Laufey said, and a nervous shudder swept throughout, each casting glances at one another. Loki held his composure, lips pursed.

"Do not dishonor my father's name with your lies," Thor shot back, but only earning a steely laugh in return.

"This isn't over," Laufey said and a sucking sound echoed against the walls, and the air became lighter. The temperature returned to normal, and they all looked at each other with warily.

"Father?" Thor asked, reaching out to him. Odin bowed his head in deep contemplation and looked to the Warriors Three and Thor.

"Leave us," he commanded quietly. Thor looked to Loki in concern, but nodded in approval.

"As you wish."

Loki stepped forward, carefully avoiding the Frost Giant remains. He swallowed, and looked to the Casket that continued to rest on the pedestal at the end of the room. Casting another look to Odin, he picked it up with a heavy breath as the cold shuddered throughout his body. He didn't have to look into a mirror to know what he was becoming.

"Am I cursed?" He asked in a strangled tone, turning to face Odin.

"No," Odin replied.

"Then what am I?" Loki forced himself to say as he trembled. He lowered the Casket down and watched his hands fade back to his Asgardian form.

"You're my son," Odin dared to reply and Loki's eyes went dark as Odin recollected his tale of finding an unwanted Jotunn baby in the aftermath of a battle. Reunite their kingdoms? Loki scoffed at that—he was just another pawn in Odin's game of power-another stolen relic to be locked up in this vault when it was time.

"You are my son. I wanted only to protect you from the truth."

Lies. All of them. Clenching his fist, he swallowed back tears that were threatening to fall. He wouldn't be weak. Not in front of his fath—Odin. He already had a monopoly on his past; he wouldn't let him hold onto his future either.

"Because I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?" He ventured, stepping closer. Odin's one eye widened, about to rebuttal, but Loki sneered in anger.

"It all makes sense now. Why you favored Thor all these years," his voice was rising to a shout before he could help himself. "Because no matter how much you claim to 'love' me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the Throne of Asgard!" His voice echoed throughout the vault, rendering Odin speechless as he looked at him with sympathy. Loki hated that.

"I'm sorry, Loki. I kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different. You are my son," Odin said softly, eyes cast down what appeared to be shame.

A strangled cry erupted from Loki as he drew nearer to Odin. "_Sorry _doesn't change anything. You think this made me feel equal?! Look at Thor. _Open your eyes_. How could you possibly fathom him as the next king of Asgard? It's a good thing the Frost Giants came; maybe now you can see what a fool he is."

Odin gripped Gungnir as he process Loki's words. Realization dawned on him with a pained expression.

"…It was you." He stated in disbelief and looked cautiously at his surroundings. Loki snapped form his tirade of rage and blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"You let the Frost Giants into Asgard. All this time …Blinded by jealousy to the point where you would _betray_ Asgard."

Loki's heart sunk and terror gripped him for a moment. "Father, I don't know what you're talking about—"

"_Do not lie to me!" _Odin thundered, and he pointed his staff at Loki's chest. "I was a fool to think that this could work. For the good of Asgard, I cannot let this stand."

Before Loki could answer, he was swept off his feet and found himself at chest point with the blade of the staff. Drawing in a breath, he attempted to summon his magic, but it was useless.

"You are unworthy of this Realm." A spark of magic flew at the tip and jolted into Loki's chest. A shudder shook throughout him, and he clenched his teeth in pain as a fought back a cry. "Unworthy of your title," another spark flew, and this time, Loki could feel his magic slowly dissipating. "And unworthy of the loved ones you've betrayed. I hereby take you from your powers."

Unable to mask the agony, Loki let out a strangled moan and his head began to pound. Despite the pain, he could hear Odin as clear as before.

"In the name of my father, and of his father before, I cast you from Asgard, and strip you of your memories and power until I call upon you again. The god of lies will learn the value of truth. Until then my son, this is farewell."

Loki screamed as his vision blackened. It was if he was drowning, but it was a rush of air that strangled him. He wouldn't be able to hold onto consciousness for much longer, and he felt his weight being lifted from the floor. A wet tear fell onto his cheek from above and for a moment, he wanted to reach out say that he was sorry.

But what exactly was he sorry for?

He heard a familiar shuffle of armor and startled murmurs, but that was all being lost into his fading consciousness. A woman cried out and from the pace of her footsteps, he assumed she was close to him. Anger. Determination. That's what he felt radiate from her as a soft cloth brushed against his cheek and hand.

A kiss was pressed against his temple, and for some reason the action was soothing despite the tears falling onto him again. Why were these people so sad?

_Loki_ he heard someone cry. It was a male's voice, and it seemed uncharacteristic of him by the choked snarl of anguish. _No_ said the voice, and he knew it was time to let go. The muffles turned into a faint buzz in the background until it all faded into silence. He was at peace.

* * *

_5 Years Later_

"I think we should stop trying," Darcy said, throwing her purse violently against the armchair of their foyer. Her mascara was running, nose red, and she was currently looking for a tissue to blow her nose into.

Loki found a box of tissues in the kitchen and gently handed it to her. He let her blow her nose a few times before he took her into his arms and rubbed circles along her back. She buried her face into his neck and kissed him before erupting into a small sob.

"What am I doing wrong?" She asked quietly, and he held her tighter.

"Nothing. You're perfect," he soothed. "I bet it's my fault. Somewhere in my family there's some defect in our sperm." He said this lightly, earning a small laugh from Darcy. At least he could still make her smile.

"Too bad we'll never know," She said, lifting her head up to look at him, and he handed her another tissue to dab her eyes.

"Then we'll blame it on them," he decided and led her to their couch and shifted her so that she could lie more comfortably on his lap.

They cradled each other in silence with Darcy's head resting comfortably underneath his chin. "We could always adopt," Loki ventured tentatively, but he felt Darcy's shoulders sag in defeat as she chose her next words carefully.

"I want it to be ours," she said, and she knew she made a mistake by the sudden stiffness in Loki's hands.

"I didn't mean—" She began, but Loki shushed her by pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I know," he reassured, but the pang in his heart didn't leave. "It can still be ours. But in a different way."

Darcy stood from his lap and stared at him thoughtfully. "Is it selfish of me to say that I want my mom moment where someone comes up to me and says, 'She has your eyes!' or 'She really takes after her father,' you know? I'd love an adopted child the same but…Oh god, what am I saying. It shouldn't matter. What kind of person am I saying this; I probably shouldn't even be a mother!"

Loki stood up abruptly; capturing her in his arms, and gave her a stern look. "Darcy, stop talking nonsense. I'm sure my parents thought the same thing. It's only natural."

"It's an awful thing to think, though."

Swallowing, he couldn't argue with that knowing how much the idea of it hurt him as well.

"Maybe. But in the end, they love you just the same."

Darcy shook her head and made way for the bathroom to wash up, but Loki took her hand to stop her.

"Hey, look at me."

She purposely turned the other way, and he saw a tear come down her chin beneath her chestnut tresses.

"We'll figure this out. But until we can, there's no harm in trying again." There was no misunderstanding in last words; they were purely playful and inviting, and the corners of Darcy's mouth turned upward. Success.

She pulled him in by their linked hands and gave him a chaste kiss. "I love you. I'll be out in ten minutes."

* * *

When Darcy awoke, she expected to be in a perfect tangle of limbs as she recalled the events from last night. A smile was graced upon her features, instead expecting the smell of warm pancakes, but there was none.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she saw Loki's slippers at the base of their bed. That was strange; Loki never liked to walk around the house without them. Maybe he had gone out?

After wrapping a robe to cover her bare frame, she began to search for any sign or note. He couldn't possibly be at work; it was a Sunday. Immediately, she thought he went out to get groceries but his wallet and phone were still on the kitchen table from the night before.

Her legs began to shake as she looked in the driveway; both of their cars were parked. Deep breaths, Darcy. Maybe this was some elaborate plan to surprise her. He liked to do that often, but this was beyond strange. Especially after last night and the delicate emotional state she was in.

Hand flying to her cell phone, she realized that calling him would be useless, so she raced to their study to find the number for the local police. Part of her was telling herself that she was being ridiculous—Loki has probably been gone for no more than a few hours, and he would probably come through the door any minute with a bag of fresh bagels.

But something in her told her to get the number anyway, and just as she was about to enter the study, something caught her eye.

Half of the front door was knocked down.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Thor or Marvel, and many of the lines/phrases used were taken directly from the Thor script.**

**Hi everyone! Welcome to ****_The Promise We Made._**** To clarify some things, this is an AU and I wanted to establish my universe before jumping straight into the story. This is why I used exact lines from Thor; I wanted to show what was canon and what will be deviating from it. I'm sorry if this offends/bores anyone, but I felt this was necessary. The rest will be completely my own (or as personal as a fanfiction can get). **

**Thanks for reading! **


	2. Loki

_As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the ocean: "Conjoiner rejoinder poisoner concealer revelator. Look at it, rising up and down, taking everything with it."  
"What's that?" I asked.  
"Water," the Dutchman said. "Well, and time."_

—_Peter Van Houten, An Imperial Affliction_

Voices. That was the first thing he could make out, but they were too faint for him to comprehend. He felt faraway as if he was in a dream, but the prickles of consciousness were coming back to him one by one.

"I merely hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious. Do not worry mother, he should awaken soon."

"He looks so weak, though…"

"He's without power."

His eyes fluttered open and he was acutely aware of the painful throbbing at the back of his head. Memories from last night flooded back to him—There was a man who knocked down the door. He took him. Abducted him, actually. Though if he recalled correctly, the man asked him to join him outside, but Loki acted on instinct and took Darcy's taser from her purse. His blood suddenly went cold. Darcy. Was she…?

"Loki?"

Taking in his surroundings, he was hit with a wave of nausea. Gold walls. A crystal tree in the center of the room. People with armor and gowns. This couldn't be real. This was a dream—some sick nightmare from his childhood.

He took in the pairs of eyes that observed him. Breath quickening, he swallowed, and spotted the blonde man who hit him. Fight or flight instinct consumed him, but he was too weak to do either, so he raised his head and stared squarely into the man's eyes.

"Where the hell am I?" He choked out, and he wished he had something on besides boxers.

A woman advanced towards him, and he shrunk away. Her brows furrowed in hurt and heartbreak and she gently brushed away some stray hair off his forehead.

"You're home now," she said and erupted into sobs as she embraced him. Reacting on reflex, he pushed her away and she fell back with a startled cry.

"I-I'm sorry," he spluttered, and looked around again in defense. The guards on the sides of the doors raised their swords. "I don't know who you are. I think you have the wrong man. Please—let me return home to my wife!" His words sounded just as helpless as he felt, but he didn't know how much time he would be able to plead for his life. From the looks of the situation, these people weren't to be bartered with.

The woman stared at him in wonder and looked to the blonde man. "He has a wife?!" She hissed to him, and slapped him against the shoulder. The man looked visibly apologetic.

"I had no idea. I found him in the place he resided on Midgard."

"Odin, fix him!" The woman cried out, and Loki turned around to see an old man with an eye patch. He held a golden staff in one hand, and eyed Loki warily.

He moved with such grace and authority that Loki debated bowing, but he knew that it was futile. Jaw clenching in anticipation, the man raised the staff to Loki's bare chest and pressed it into his torso. A small droplet of blood broke free and trickled downward.

He held his breath even though he knew this was the end, but it couldn't be. Darcy was waiting for him at home in their bed. Darcy would make him easy over eggs because he couldn't. Darcy would hold him and tell him it would all work out. It had to. It always did.

The spear met him again, and an electric shock filled his entire body. A scream erupted and echoed off the walls. That was his own scream, he realized, as the pain engulfed him. He convulsed against the ground—this was it. _I'm so sorry, Darcy. _He thought, trying to remember her beautiful face. Blue eyes. Full lips. Chestnut brown hair that curled at the edges.

"_Do you remember the flood, Loki?"_

* * *

_I am Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Lies and harbinger of chaos._

_I am a Prince of Asgard._

_I am a Frost Giant—stolen by Odin for his own selfish agenda. _

_I am Loki Laufeyson._

…_  
_

_I'm Loki Loncastre, husband of Darcy Lewis. _

_I live on 54 Vann Street. _

_I was supposed to buy bagels this morning._

_Shit._

When he woke the second time, he cried out in such a fury that the guards rushed in. Writhing in panic, he cast them out as they flew into the air and impacted with the wall. Subsequently, he passed out again.

The third time was easier. This time he was crying, and no one dared to enter his chambers. He allowed himself to let the memories flood in—Loki Odinson. Son of Odin. Son of Laufey. Prince of Asgard. Traitor. Liar.

Like a chant, he repeated these words over and over in an attempt to solidify his memories. However, the new ones intruded his mind like a poorly built dam against a torrent of water.

And it broke, and he couldn't take it anymore until he shut himself away again, this time resorting to magic to try and clear his head.

Magic felt strange on his body; it was familiar, but his movements felt too practiced and too sure of his power.

Slowly, little by little, the memories began to piece themselves back together in a distorted timeline until Loki resolved to get out of bed. He grabbed a piece of parchment—the action was automatic as his hand reached into a drawer—and he began to jot down his _before _and _after._

This made things clearer on a physical level, but in retrospect, it didn't. Emotions flowed into the wrong memories, and the lines between what was real and what wasn't blurred to the point of madness.

His punishment was banishment, but he had an inkling that this wasn't true at all. No. It was much worse.

A knock resounded against the door, and it waited for no reply as the figure entered. His mother. Frigga. Those memories were clearer; they were filled with love much like the ones on Midgard.

She ran to his bedside with a look of wonder. Her eyes were rimmed red and she touched his cheek tenderly as if he was porcelain. He stared at her blankly; mute like a child waking from a nightmare.

"My son…" She whispered and enveloped him into a hug. "How are you feeling?"

The words were knotted in his throat. Alive. Well. Confused. He tried to put them together, but he only managed a tear down his cheek. Frigga also broke into tears and stroked his hair lovingly.

"You're home now—you're safe. Do you know who I am?"

"Mother," he choked out and she released a relieving sigh of happiness.

"Your father wants to see you as soon as possible. Are you feeling up to it? Shall I fetch the healers first?"

His heart hardened at the mention of his father. No, _Odin._ Even though he could have excused himself for another day, he knew that this confrontation needed to be made for his own peace of mind. He gave himself an hour, and Frigga excused herself from his chambers after a quick kiss to his forehead. He didn't respond, and sought to pacing in his room.

Clasping his hands, he noticed the familiar weight on his left hand. A golden ring. His wedding ring.

The throbbing returned to his head as he recounted his previous life, and he went through the motions again. Darcy Lewis. The name rang reverently in his mind, thoroughly contradicting his previous life's sentiments. He _worshipped _her, and the mix of lust and love confused him even more. However, the feeling was absolute, and it seemed like the only truth in the midst of memories.

His hour was up as his feet took him to the throne room where Odin sat. Loki placed himself in front and nodded his head slightly. Odin rose with a discerning eye and dismissed his guards.

"Welcome home, my son," he said, and the words bristled against Loki's heart.

"Father," he replied tersely.

"Much has happened since you left. Shall we take a walk?"

Wordlessly, Loki followed. They stood on a familiar balcony at the edge of the palace. It overlooked Asgard and the Bifrost. Odin held Gungnir steadily and looked to Loki.

"After you left—"

"Banished," Loki interrupted curtly, paying no heed to manners. The familiar bubble of hate grew stronger as similar scenes flashed through his mind. Thor. Coronation. Favored brother. _I remember living in a shadow._

Odin didn't look particularly annoyed, so he carried on. "When you led the Frost Giants into Asgard, and our subsequent battle with them, Jotunheim wanted revenge. They failed, but that was only the beginning. They seek vengeance—vengeance that is so powerful that they're claiming war soon."

"We've fought wars in the past," Loki offered, but Odin looked genuinely grave. This perturbed Loki and he reveled in it all the same. The great Allfather—afraid.

"Not in a very long time. This is…different. I know you were not yourself when you arrived on Asgard, but Yggdrasil is not well. The roots are rotting and this is only the beginning. Ragnarok is upon us."

Loki's mouth went dry and the habituated clench in his hands returned. "What exactly are you asking of me?"

Odin looked into the distance and tilted his head slightly downward in shame. "My son, I know we left on unpleasant terms, but this is your chance for retribution."

A guttural sound escaped Loki's throat and a bitter laugh escaped him. "Retribution?! Did I not face my punishment on Midgard?! I am back—"

"But not for that reason! You did not learn the value of truth."

Loki's eyes darkened and in a measured tone, "Why did you bring me here?"

Odin was silent, and Loki stepped closer, leaning down towards his father's frame. "Look at me!" He snarled.

"War is starting, and the gods are preparing. You must fulfill your role as a prince of Asgard."

"With _Thor _I'm assuming?" He mocked and circled Odin. "I am not a stolen relic to be used when you see fit, old man. I am not your pet to call upon, and I am not your son!" He paused and he chuckled. "I see now—You knew this would happen. No jail in Asgard could hold me, so you do the next best thing and incarcerate me to Midgard. You never intended for me to return with liberty—This was in your plan to use me; to manipulate me to help you!"

"That isn't true—"

"Oh, but it is. It's written all over your face. You fear me, Odin, it's best to admit it now. You fear my power and everything I can do. And you should. You may have stripped me of it before, but that was only temporary."

"I'm trying to save Asgard!" Odin pleaded. "I know it cannot be done without you."

Loki raised a thrilled eyebrow. "Do you? This shall be interesting then."

The color drained from Odin's face as he outstretched a hand in realization. "No, Loki. Please. _We need you_."

"And that is why I must leave," Loki answered with a laugh, and his armor appeared in a golden shimmer. "I understand my punishment now. Did you think you could debilitate me with this curse? These two lives living within me? That it would make me _weak? _You're wrong—it'll be easy to shut out once I've had enough time to ruminate it through."

"Loki…" Odin faltered, abandoning his role as king and looked at him with the eyes of a father. "It wasn't my intention."

"_What_ wasn't your intention?" Loki seethed, meeting eye to eye. "To steal a baby from Jotunheim? To lie to him for years? To use him? Take your pick."

"I'm sorry."

"You're becoming awfully desperate. It's not fitting for a king, especially with a war brewing." He drew in a breath and smiled. Yes, this was more like it. Magic pulsed throughout his veins, and his anger only fueled it even more.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a war to prepare for. Oh, but don't trouble yourself banishing me, I'll do that myself." And he brought himself into the void, the space between worlds, and he found the icy path that he opened long ago. Jotunheim.

* * *

**Yes, this story is going to be mythology inspired, and most likely butchered. Please keep in mind that it's **_**inspired **_**so some elements aren't going to be exactly accurate to the Prose Edda and other sources.**

**Darcy will be making her appearance in upcoming chapters, don't you worry. This story is going to be told in a (hopefully) unique way, but I don't want to give away anything :)**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed so far! You guys keep me writing! Reviews = love.**


	3. Hello

_"Let's go on a journey to learn what it means to say farewell."_

_-Children Who Chase Lost Voices_

**About 5 Years Ago**

"Darcy! That man in the corner ordered an apple crumb cake and black coffee. Can you please give it to him while I help these people out?"

"Sure!" Darcy grabbed the tray of food from her coworker with practiced ease and made her way to the dark haired man. It was midday—lunchtime-and the popular coffee shop she worked for was at its busiest.

She was used to the commotion of the city since the coffee shop was located right next to a train station, and she often saw familiar faces who bought their usual. If she wasn't in school finishing up her degree, she was working, but she didn't mind it much. Her manager was kind, and even chastised her on occasion that she needed to take more days off if she were to stay healthy.

But again, Darcy didn't mind. She had a tuition to pay off, and relaxing was the last thing on her mind. After her internship with Jane over the summer, Darcy realized that political science wasn't really her thing. Neither was astrophysics, but after hours of doodling between taking notes for Jane, and some encouraging comments from Erik, she decided to pursue an art degree. Specifics were still a bit sketchy, but she was happy with her decision.

Not to mention that the coffee shop fueled her love for art; lined with books, vintage photographs, and paintings, the quaint environment nurtured new ideas and territories. She met many different artists and writers whilst working, and if she had the time, she would strike up a conversation. It was fascinating to see the early stages of a drawing sketched into someone's Moleskin journal, or the quiet proverbial writings in a leather bound book.

So when she came across a slender figured man pouring over a stack of thick papers, she didn't think much of the scene.

"Here you go," she said, nudging the tray onto the little space that wasn't covered by paper. "Can I get you anything else?"

"That's fine, thank you," the man replied, not bothering to look up. With jet black hair curled carefully around his ears and pale white skin, he looked like a young teacher grading papers as he took a red pen and slashed it through paragraphs. He sported a deep emerald cardigan and dark jeans with expensive loafers.

"If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask," Darcy said, already moving onto her next customer. The man gave a non-committal nod, and she whisked herself away paying no mind.

It wasn't until later that night she began to look at him a bit closer. Hair tousled into a messy bun, Darcy heaved a sigh of relief as she looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go and her shift would be over. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose after falling a bit, and she grabbed a wet cloth to wipe up tables to prepare for closing.

The dark haired man was still in the corner, and he was in the same position, red pen in hand. He barely made a dent in his stack of papers.

"We're closing in ten minutes, sir," she said, stacking a chair on the table next to him. He looked up in alarm, and she noticed his shocking green eyes. Her breath caught in her throat for a second, and she regained her composure.

"It seems I lost track of time," he said, and she wasn't sure whether it was to her or to himself. "Thank you for alerting me," he said a bit louder, and Darcy nodded. He began to paperclip his papers together in an organized fashion, and he pulled out a briefcase to store it.

It had begun to rain a little after lunch, and it was picking up to the point where it pattered heavily against the glass door. Darcy was relieved she was taking the train home tonight since the bus was running late after an accident on a main road.

The man rose from his seat and opened the door with a ring from the bell. "Thanks for coming!" Darcy called, but he didn't acknowledge her as he let the door shut behind him. The wind blew furiously, and some leaves flew in, making Darcy groan. More mopping for her.

By the time Darcy left the coffee shop, the wind was much too strong for an umbrella, so she made a quick dash to the station. The streetlamps flickered with the impending storm, and she managed to step in a giant puddle as her boots made contact with the brick pavement.

"Phew," she muttered, stepping inside for warmth, but she noticed the lights were out, save for a small fireplace in the center of the room. A couple of people were huddled around, and Darcy went to the ticket booth to make sure the lines were running.

"They are, but they're delayed due to the storm."

"How long?" She asked worriedly, and the bags around her eyes seemed even heavier.

"Two hours, maybe more."

Darcy hauled herself onto the nearest empty chair, and checked her phone to see if any of her friends could give her a ride. To her dismay, she had no signal, so she turned to the man next to her and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, can I borrow your phone?"

The man turned around, and droplets of water slid off his coat in a hurry. Darcy's eyes widened—it was the man in the coffee shop. For some reason this intimidated her, and she let out a quick "Nevermind," but he looked apologetic as he took off his jacket.

"I'm afraid I just broke mine," he said in a solemn voice as if it was deceased.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she apologized, wondering if he was just making an excuse, but the man looked just as tired as her, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed he was also soaked much more than her.

"How'd you get that wet if the coffee shop is right next door?" She blurted, but she internally slapped herself as soon as the words came out. He was a stranger, and probably not in a good mood judging from his looks.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound intrusive—" She started, but the man gestured to the seat beside him where a mudded briefcase sat. It was cracked open and held together by a hinge.

"I slipped and dropped all my belongings, including my manuscripts. I tried to save as much as I could, but the damage was done." He sounded choked, and Darcy felt bad for the guy, even if he did look pretty wealthy in his dapper coat and briefcase. She briefly thought about her own appearance—oversized sweater, leggings, and leather boots that were a gift last Christmas. Whatever, they were in darkness, so she pushed the insecure thoughts aside.

"That blows," she said, breaking him from his transfixed stare on the briefcase. "Wait, you said manuscripts? Are you a writer? Because I thought you were a teacher from all the editing you were doing—not that I was staring at you, you were there for a long time so it was easy to see. Oh, I'm the waitress at the coffee shop, by the way. Not creeping on you or anything." _Smooth move, Lewis_, she thought to herself, but the man seemed amused as the corners of his lips upturned into a small smile.

"I recognized you," he began. "And yes, I am a writer. Well, a writer to-be. I haven't actually published anything yet."

"You don't need to publish anything to be a writer," Darcy acknowledged, but he shrugged. "Should I get your autograph now?" She joked, and that earned a bigger smile. "I'm Darcy, by the way. Darcy Lewis: waitress by night, student by day, but it's more like waitress all day, and student when I have the time."

The effects of tiredness were catching up to her, and she berated herself at the lame jokes she was making. However, he didn't seem to mind as he extended a hand and she shook it. He was cold in contrast to her warm hands that were spent in the pockets of her sweater, and he immediately apologized.

"Bad circulation," he quipped, and she said she didn't mind. It was chilly in the station anyway.

"I'm Loki Loncastre. Aspiring author, but currently working an office job at a publishing company." He rubbed the back of neck, and looked at his briefcase sheepishly. "I'm afraid the water damaged my manuscripts—I was editing my story earlier."

Listening to his voice was like melting butter, she determined, and internally swooned. He had a certain accent to him; not quite British, but something unique that she couldn't place.

"Don't you have it saved on a computer or something?"

"Well, yes. But I like to edit on a hard copy. I still have much to do before I even hand in a rough draft."

Tilting her head, Darcy glanced to the ruined papers. "If you don't mind…Can I read it? I mean, we're going to be stuck here for a while and I'd love to read it…"

Loki laughed nervously and opened the briefcase to dig out a small stack that was untouched by the weather. "It's a rather strange story," he prefaced, hesitantly handing it to Darcy. "I know this is useless to say, but don't judge me. It's my first novel and I know it's weird to see—"

"Oh give it here," Darcy urged, grabbing the papers from his hand and placed them on her lap. The fire gave just enough light for her to read, and the setting was actually really cozy and nice. Her fingers brushed along the paper and she read the title out loud.

"_Tales from Asgard_," she said, stealing a glance at Loki who looked positively mortified. She began to read, taking his cross outs and inserts into consideration since he had already edited this portion. She could tell where he was coming from since it was a bit strange that he wrote himself into a story, but she knew enough about Norse mythology to know that Loki was the God of Mischief and Lies.

"My parents loved mythology and they thought the name Loki would be good for a boy," He explained after she finished the first page, and she merely smiled and continued. She didn't say anything, completely absorbed in the text, but Loki kept looking at her face, gauging her reaction.

"Do you really have a brother named Thor?" She asked, after finishing the first chapter.

"No," he replied laughing, looking more at ease. "I'm adopted, actually, and I'm an only child."

"Thor seems like a good brother," she said, flipping the page over to begin the next chapter. Loki snickered with a shrewd look in his eye.

"I suppose, but keep reading. I think you'll find that most of their adventures stem from Thor's lack of judgment."

Darcy grinned as she continued, and she didn't even notice how much time had passed until the fire was almost out. She pressed in closer to the flames to read, and she had reached chapter five when the pages had run out.

"AH. You can't leave me on a cliffhanger like that! What happened to the Warriors Three?! And did Loki master the transformation spell? Because that would definitely save their asses." She pouted and handed the stack of papers back to Loki who looked genuinely pleased.

"You'll have to wait until I publish the book to find out," he jested, and Darcy pulled on the ends of her hair in mock frustration.

"Then you better publish it soon because I want to know what happens! How do you even think of these things anyway? It's so amazing. You can probably tell I'm a fantasy lover myself, by the way."

They slipped into a comfortable camaraderie as Loki eased into his seat, crossing his legs. "I don't think of it as fantasy," he said quietly, staring off into an aimless spot on the ceiling. "I just kind of know. Like I already have these stories in my head and it was just waiting to be written down. That probably sounds crazy," he amended, laughing at himself, and looked to Darcy, but she looked sincerely interested without a hint of mock or ridicule.

"No, I get it," she responded, digging through her own bag. "It's like when I draw; sometimes I just _know_ what I should be drawing and before I know it, it's come to life on the page. Or I start off with a simple line and it turns into something else completely." She nudged his shoulder with the edge of her sketchbook. "It's only fair," she offered. "You showed me what you love to do, and this is what I love."

Loki picked up the sketchbook, and squatted by the diminishing fire to see the images more clearly. "Darcy," he breathed, "These are extraordinary!"

Feeling a blush coming on and a swell of pride, Darcy remained in the darkness and said offhandedly, "Thanks. I'm actually an art major so I guess I should be able to draw."

Loki remained by the fire for a few more minutes as he gently admired each page, and he returned to her side, handing back the book. "You're quite talented," he complimented.

"So are you," she replied cheekily, and wondered if they were flirting. No, it was mutual admiration she concluded, but it's been a while since she interacted with any attractive guys like this. She commuted to college, so she never got too caught up in dorm life. And besides, he seemed to a bit older than her, and he probably wouldn't be interested in a college student.

"Darcy, I'm going to tell you a secret," he said, coming closer, and she could smell peppermint on his breath.

"Yes?" The word almost got caught in her throat as her heart beat faster.

"You're the first person that has ever read my story. So thank you. I was…Uneasy about my writing, but your response lessened it immensely."

"Seriously? As awesome as it is, you've never shown it to anyone?"

He nodded and touched her hand gently. "It really means a lot to me. To tell you the truth, I wasn't even going to publish it. Writing's a hobby to me, and I can't really fathom anyone reading what I write. I see books getting published all the time and what I write never seems to compare."

"I know how that feels," Darcy agreed, slouching in her chair. "The curse of an artist. And I don't just mean art. Stuff like art, music, writing, that sort of thing. For some reason there only seems to be two mindsets. You're either really arrogant or self-destructive. That's just from experience, though. I'm sure there are people who are in the middle."

"Then I've yet to find those people," Loki said, chuckling a bit. He looked at her thoughtfully and rested his head on his palm. "Where do you fall on that scale, Miss Lewis?"

Darcy threw her head back and laughed. "I don't. I fluctuate in between all the time. Like every five minutes. I'll be drawing something one second and think it's the next Mona Lisa, but give me another minute and I'll probably want to rip it up." Her stomach began to growl, so she sheepishly pulled out a granola bar and tore the wrapper off, nibbling it with as much grace as she could muster.

"You haven't had dinner yet?" Loki asked, concern knitting his brows together. "It's pretty late."

She shook her head and in between bites, "No—even though I work—at a café-too expensive." She swallowed, and the whole bar was gone. "It's okay, though. I get by on ramen and cheap coffee. I had some waiting for me back at my apartment, but I didn't count on the train being late."

"I'm sorry, I wish I had some food to give you." Great, now she felt like a charity case, and she looked down at her boots. "Or if there were any restaurants open I would take you to out to dinner." Did he just ask her out? She wondered with glee, and looked up to see his troubled gaze.

Get ahold of yourself, woman! Darcy yelled to herself, snapping from her shocked expression. "Wow, uh, thanks! That's a lot to do for a stranger."

"You read my story, that's also a lot for a stranger," he countered playfully. The lights flickered back on, startling both of them with a jump.

"Line B is now running and boarding!" The intercom blared, and Loki's eyebrows shot up as the train rushed into the terminal.

"That would be my ride," he said, rising from his seat, attempting to gather his haphazard briefcase and papers. Darcy looked visibly disappointed; her train was Line A, and she was really enjoying their conversation and Loki's companionship. She decided it would be weird to ask for his number or email, so she waved awkwardly.

Instead, Loki bent down and took her hand to kiss the top of it. Heat rose to her cheeks immediately, and this time there was no darkness to conceal it, so she looked off to the side, not meeting his eyes. Such a gentleman.

"Thank you for your company, Darcy. It was truly a pleasure. If my book ever gets published, I'll be sure to dedicate it to you."

"Wow, um, you really don't have to do that. I didn't do anything!" she said hurriedly, but she told herself to shut up and take the compliment since he was already walking towards the train.

"Goodbye, Loki!" She called, this time waving with more confidence. The doors began to close, and he took a seat by the window so he could wave in return. He smiled, and she swore he looked a bit sad too. The impulsive part of her told her to run onto the train with him, but she knew that was ridiculous. They only knew each other for a few hours, and he owed her nothing.

It began to move, and the familiar click upon the tracks signaled for her to step away. She continued to wave as the wind blew her hair across her face, sending a chill down her spine.

* * *

Loki leaned against the train and watched the lights weave in and out each window. He was thankful there were only a couple people in this trolley so he was able to recline himself. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't have the heart to tell Darcy that he was only visiting and that he would be in a different state in a couple of days, weather permitting.

It was liberating to finally share his writing. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't write, or a time when he didn't have a story that he needed to be told. Usually he held up a serious and guarded guise whenever someone asked to see what he was scribbling down, but there was an emancipating openness when a stranger asked him. And when said stranger was an attractive girl…Well, it couldn't hurt.

And it didn't, to his relief. She spoke with such blunt honesty that it refreshed and mollified him at the same time. He was an introverted creature, and an office job fostered this type of person, so the only deep interaction he had with anyone outside his friends were limited to lunch breaks with menial chatter.

Yes, he could have given her his number or some other mode of communication, but he's had his fair share of close relationships and to say the least, he thought it was best to stay away from them. She was a young strapping girl and couldn't be burdened with his deep rooted problems anyway.

He wasn't kidding when he said he would dedicate his first book to her. Darcy Lewis. He wouldn't forget the name of the girl who gave him his first stroke of confidence. It didn't matter if they would never meet up again; it would be the sentiment that counted, and if perhaps she stumbled upon his book twenty something years later, it would be worth it.

The wind battered against the train windows, and he hoped that she was doing alright. Like his previous promise, he also meant it when he offered to take her out to dinner. From the looks of it, she could use a well cooked meal, and he didn't mean that in a condescending way. He found satisfaction in helping a woman in need—who said chivalry was dead? He hoped he didn't come off as a rich snob; rich, yes, but he was far from being arrogant, thinking back to Darcy's observation that there were only two modes of thinking.

He lived most of his life thinking he deserved the bottom of the barrel, despite whatever his parents tried to argue. It wasn't like he wanted to think that way (a therapist told him that once), he simply believed it to be true, as if he were born with low self-esteem. Like others, he alleged himself with the philosophy that evil was created, not born, and so like many others, he also tried to find the root of his anxiety.

Soul searching was difficult when you constantly question yourself, he concluded long ago, and he eventually lent himself to the idea that some things are not meant to be explained, and his nonexistent confidence was one of them. So he lived day to day, getting by on dreams weaved from foolish hope.

His stop was nearing, so he stood and gripped the closest bar to steady himself. Tucked under his arm was his disheveled briefcase and papers, and he made sure to keep it under his jacket to prevent any more damage.

As the doors slid open, he took his first steps onto the pavement. He looked to the sky, and a few droplets of water dashed along his cheeks and ran down his neck._ Darcy Lewis_, he repeated to himself. _Thank you._

**Reviews are much appreciated! 3**


	4. Darcy

_"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it the most?"_

_-Mark Twain_

It was quiet, save for the soft drip of the tap water. There were no lights illuminating the room, and a steady breath could be heard peeking from the mass of blankets on the couch.

Two weeks. That's how long he's been gone. After a weary and fruitless encounter with the police, she resorted to hiring a private detective. Both of them declared him gone, as if he ceased to exist on the spot and the only evidence were the belongings in their house.

Loki.

She couldn't even say his name without erupting into sobs. Gone was her usual confident composure, replaced with hurt and brokenness. _He wouldn't just leave me_, she told herself over and over. To add to the mystery was the beaten down door, and the police was sure it was a kidnapping. The only problem is that the evidence ended there—no trace of fingerprints, _nothing_.

The phone started to ring, but Darcy paid no mind, head buried into the blankets. It rang until it hit voicemail, letting it echo throughout the house.

"Darcy? It's mom again. Your dad and I wanted to let you know that we're worried about you. We haven't heard from you in three days. Please pick up, I know you're there…" Silence. Her mother heaved a sigh, and said carefully, "We were thinking that maybe you need some outside help. Your sister knows a wonderful therapist just outside of town; I could drive you if you're not feeling up to it. We don't think you're troubled, honey…It's just that we're worried. You haven't answered our calls or your sisters, or even your friends. I think it's time to accept that he's not coming back, and wherever he is, he wants you to move on. Please call back soon, we love you." Her mother paused, and Darcy could hear her shallow breaths as she waited hopefully for her daughter to pick up. With a defeated sigh, she hung up and the dial tone beeped for a few seconds until it was silent again.

Another hour passed by, and the phone rang again. It was her sister this time.

"Darce! Get your ass off the couch!" She gave a laugh and continued, "I'm going out to dinner with Liam tomorrow and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with us. He has this friend that he works with and he's absolutely _gorgeous. _He's single too! We could double date so if you want to come—" Darcy lunged from her spot, wrapping Loki's jacket closer to her body, and shut the phone off with an angry hit.

Tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes again, so she flicked the lights on in the kitchen to find some tissues. Pizza boxes were strewn about, along with empty containers of Chinese food. She hadn't eaten today, and she wasn't in the mood to either. The pit of tears in her stomach was enough.

Dabbing her eyes, she resumed her position on the couch, staring off into a vacant spot on the ceiling. It hurt to look around the house. It was as if he never left. Shoes in random places, papers thrown everywhere, and his laptop sat in the corner of the room, waiting to be filled with words.

_He wouldn't leave me_, she told herself firmly, and adjusted her engagement ring since the diamond twisted itself under her finger.

Her world ceased to move, and she wished that she could become Miss Havisham and stop all the clocks the moment before her eyes shut that night.

_"You know you look beautiful when you cry," Loki said, brushing the remaining tears from her face before they descended into bed._

_"You're just saying that to make me feel better."_

_The grin on his face was utterly cheeky. "Maybe. But you're beautiful no matter what. Though I would much rather see you smile."_

Rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket, she breathed in his scent, letting it envelope her into memory after memory.

On the counter was the microwave, and accusing green numbers shone through the darkness. It was stuck at a perpetual minute and a half, but it counted down. Each time it reached zero, it restarted back to a minute and a half. Again. And again. She didn't have enough resolve to fix the issue, so she watched the numbers as each hour passed.

3

2

1

0

1:30

* * *

"DARCY. OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I WILL GET A LOCKSMITH!"

Groaning, she awoke to a pounding both in her head and at the door. Unlatching the lock, she swung the door open with an irritated look. Her mother and sister stood at the door, taking in her appearance. Her sister cracked a smile; being younger, she was always bubblier than Darcy and her blonde locks only added to the image.

"Cute outfit," she said, inviting herself in, and Darcy flushed, pulling at Loki's dress shirt and boxers that she currently wore.

"This place is a mess," her mother clicked her tongue, already beginning to pick up the scattered trash.

"Mom, please stop. I'll handle it."

"I can see that," she replied sardonically, depositing her bag on an empty space on the couch.

"We wanted to see how you are…" her sister began, touching her shoulder tentatively.

"I'm fine," Darcy huffed, shrugging the hand off.

"Darcy, _you are not fine_. Your boss already told me that you can some time off, but it's about time you get your life back in order. It's almost been a month! Don't you miss being outside? Your friends?"

"No," she replied tautly. Her mother sighed and halted her cleaning to sit next to her.

"Did you think about the therapist?"

"No."

"You know you can't live like this. What happened to the headstrong girl I rose?" With blue eyes that matched Darcy's, her look softened as she wrapped an arm around Darcy and pulled her closer.

"Gone. Wherever Loki went, it went with him."

"Oh don't be so dramatic."

"Mom," her sister warned with concern.

"Can you guys leave me alone, _please?_ I'll text you every day so you know that I'm alive and not think I drugged or cut myself."

"Darcy!" Her mother exclaimed, scandalized. "I'm starting to think that therapy is necessary."

"I'm kidding, ma. Really." Attempting to look more composed, she gave her mother a hug. "I just…I need some time. And before you say that I've had time, three weeks isn't nearly enough to erase five years."

"I'm not trying to make you forget, hon. I'm telling you that you need to put this behind you and move on with yourself. You're still young and you have a whole life ahead of you, and I hate to see you wasting it on a man that isn't here."

"He's my _husband!_" Darcy cried out, mouth forming into a thin line. She held up her left hand. "And he still is!"

"Oh, Darcy…"

"Stop trying to lecture me! If dad died, would he not be your husband anymore?"

Her mother drew a pained look, and Darcy immediately regretted it. "Of course not, but we're old. He's my life, and so are you girls."

"And Loki is mine," she declared, crossing her legs. "I don't care if I've been with him for five years or fifty. I love him."

"Darcy," her sister said softy, surprising her. "What if…What if he's gone? Like, dead."

Swallowing, "Then he's gone. But I don't know that for sure."

Her sister and mother looked at each other worriedly.

"Can you promise me something? Please look at me," her mother implored, and Darcy slowly raised her eyes to meet her mother's. "Go back to work next week. If anything, you should do that. And you love your job anyway," she added as an afterthought.

"I suppose I should," Darcy answered quietly, earning a small smile from her mother.

"Good." She patted her lap affectionately and rose up to give her a kiss. She scrunched her nose. "When was the last time you showered?"

"Uhm, five days ago?" Darcy offered sheepishly, and both her mother and sister made a face.

"I left some food in the fridge for you, okay? Make sure you eat enough," her sister said, giving her a small squeeze. Darcy nodded mutely as they made their way out the door, with her mother telling her that she'd visit again soon.

Darcy pursed her lips as she paced throughout the house, aimlessly picking up objects in an attempt to clean. She knew she wasn't doing herself any favors moping around, but the ache in her heart overshadowed any other thought.

Fingering through her hair, she also knew she looked worse for wear. She sighed, taking a look in the mirror for the first time in ages. Red lined her eyes, and she had broken out along her jaw. She cast a look at the toothbrush holder where her red toothbrush crossed over to Loki's green. Picking it up ruefully, she examined it, wondering when the last time she replaced it was.

Placing it on the side, she moved the shower lever until a steady stream of steaming water poured down. Tentatively stripping herself, she carefully deposited Loki's clothes on top of the hamper and stepped into the shower.

It was scalding, but she welcomed the water as it refreshed her and seeped into her pores. Closing her eyes, she allowed it to run down her shoulders and back before she lowered the temperature.

* * *

It was nearly midnight, and for the first time since Loki left, Darcy sat in front of the TV catching up on the news and shows. She avoided the ones her and Loki watched together; it wasn't the same without his crude commentary, and she was rarely silent when they both watched.

Still, she welcomed the mind numbing effect and the coziness of Loki's sweater allowed some comfort. Her eyes closed, begging for sleep, but she knew if she slept the dreams would come again. They could hardly be called nightmares since they were so pleasant, but in her dreams, they were always together. Sometimes memories, others random events that she wished would happen.

The lights flickered, causing her to jump, and she could have sworn the temperature dropped a bit in the process, but she paid no mind, furthering cuddling herself into his sweater.

It wasn't until she heard footsteps that she became more alert. Heart beating faster, she let out a cautious "Hello?" and craned her head to peer into the next room.

"Darcy?" She recognized that honeyed voice anywhere, and threw herself from the couch as she spotted him at the end of the room. He was extremely pale, dressed in a too formal business suit and scarf, but she didn't care. He was _back. _He was _home._

"Loki!" She shouted, running closer, arms outstretched.

"Hello, darling," He said, lips forming into a somber smile. As she neared to embrace him, her eyes widened in terror as her hand went through his neck.

"Loki?" She recoiled, eyes widening and stepped away in fright, but he made no other movement other than a blink.

"There's something I need to tell you," he uttered barely above a whisper, and revealed a large book under the crook of his arm.

**Reviews really motivate me to write. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter :)**


	5. The Land of Ice

_Some say the world will end in fire_

_Some say in ice_

_-Robert Frost_

When Loki first landed in Jotunheim, he could already tell that Yggdrasil was weakening. While he used magic to transport himself between worlds, it was Yggdrasil that he latched on to. Without that, he would be just as powerless if he were without the Bifrost.

But that was no matter. He was here to help Laufey destroy Asgard. If he could not inspire love, then he will bring fear—_they_ created the monster. Not him; he was a victim of circumstance, and he will embrace it.

The snow was falling heavily and little flurries caught in his hair as he trudged his way through. It was almost impossible to make out anything other than the large stones that made up Jotunheim, but he supposed there wasn't much to see in the first place.

He saw a party of four Jotuns in the distance, and a cry was on the tip of his tongue to ask where their king was located. He held back, however, and followed the path that they seemed to be on. Snow and ice covered the ground, but there was enough evidence to see where there was an indent.

He reached the palace, and he was struck with a memory of his original bargain. Now he would be asking for retribution.

Only two guards were at the front of the palace, and he wondered where the rest of them were. It was strange to see the palace so vulnerable as he stepped into the threshold where the guards could see him.

"_You," _they sneered, and pointed their spears at him, casting a look to Laufey. He stepped from his throne to give Loki a once-over.

"What could the Prince of Asgard want with us now? After he turned on us seconds from our victory?"

"I seek to join you," Loki stated calmly, looking at Laufey—no, his _father _in the eye. "Asgard is a realm of fools and liars. I have no business there any longer after my true parentage was revealed."

Laufey titled his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Loki sucked in a breath as he gave himself to the cold. His body felt lighter; it was far too contained in his Asgardian form and not fit for the climate of Jotunheim. Blue enraptured his skin, and his eyes glowed the familiar red.

"Is this another trick?" Laufey asked, grabbing Loki's arm in a haste to hinder him, but Loki didn't recoil. He looked at his father in the eye with steady determination and he said slowly,

"No. I had no control of this. I am your son, stolen by Odin after the battle between Asgard and Jotunheim."

The guards immediately grew feral at this, drawing their weapons as one cried out, "How _dare _you insult the king of Jotunheim with your lies!"

But Laufey didn't phase as he observed Loki and a flicker of recognition brightened in his eye. "Ah," He let out, releasing Loki's arm, turning from him.

"Leave us," Laufey said to the guards as they looked to each other in confusion. They didn't dare say a word against him, and they departed with tentative eyes towards Loki.

Laufey sat back down on his throne, looking at Loki with an unreadable expression as he rested his cheek against his palm. "My son…" He murmured and Loki didn't move but his heart lurched with hope.

"Yes," Loki said, stepping closer and with a strangled voice, "I am here to serve Jotunheim…. and my father."

"Then so be it," Laufey replied in a clipped tone, surprising Loki and he stood from his throne in a swift motion. "You will be known to our kind as Laufeyson. I have no other heirs and war is approaching. You will help our men prepare—you know Asgard's defenses best."

Eyes widening, Loki dropped to his knees. "Thank you," he said, head bowed in reverence and Laufey replied with his own curt nod.

"Come with me. I will show you to the village where our army lies."

Loki choked back the tension forming in his throat as he stood and a smile broke through his hard exterior. Laufey was already walking and he made his way down the path parted by the stones. His silhouette could be made out through the snowfall, so Loki quickened his pace to follow. This was what he was born to do, he told himself firmly as the snow fell harder.

* * *

When he stepped into the village, the first thing he noticed was that everyone was out of their houses, which were sizable stone formations, and the guards were giving orders left and right. Women carried baskets of food, but there were no children to be seen. Only soldiers.

When Laufey stepped into the main square, they halted as all eyes turned to Loki.

"_What _is _he _doing here?" General Gath snarled as an ice spike formed around his arm, ready to strike.

"Peace, General. He is with us now," Laufey commanded, his gaze rolling over the entire village. "This is my son," gasps erupted all around, "And he is here to help us win! Let no one treat him any differently; he is a prince of Jotunheim."

Loki made an effort to stand taller—he was even smaller than the wives and much less stockier than the men. They looked at him with horror, others with disgust, and anger burned under the General's eyes as he retracted his ice.

"With all due respect, sire, how do we know that he will not betray us? He is the god of lies—"

"That term was coined by the filth of Asgard," Laufey interrupted. "He is Laufeyson here."

The General opened his mouth to speak, but closed it in defeat. "I understand," he said brusquely, turning on his heel. "If you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. It seems that our army in the west is facing difficulty."

"Thank you, General. Before you depart, I need to have a word with you. In private, yes?" Laufey said, gesturing towards the army tent. "Evere," he said, motioning for the female Jotun in the corner to come closer.

"Yes, your highness?" The young female Jotun asked. She looked to be pregnant—her belly was swollen and her hands were fiddling with a piece of leather.

"My son needs clothes that suit Jotunheim. You will see to that as well as a place to stay for the night. In the morning, take him to Lieutenant Morl."

"Yes, sire," she said, dipping her head as much as her body would allow. Laufey nodded his head in dismissal and left with the General, not sparing Loki a second look. Loki stood, looking at his father's back as if in a trance while the rest of the village stared at him.

"Prince Loki—" Evere squeaked, tapping him on the shoulder lightly, "If you'll come with me. My house is just outside of town."

Breaking from his state, Loki looked up at the terrified woman and acquiesced. They walked in silence and she faltered every other step.

"Why are you so weak?" Loki asked, steadying her before she slipped down the hill. She smiled in thanks and leaned against him as they made their way up the hill.

"Food isn't abundant here and most of what we have is given to the soldiers. They need their strength much more than I do."

"Doesn't your husband give you what he has?" He asked when they reached her house. She deposited herself on a chair and invited him to sit beside her.

"Oh, he does. But he needs his energy to train and I couldn't take that away from him. If he falls short, he will surely be punished," she replied with a shaky laugh. She placed her hands on her stomach and rose again to rummage through the chest at the foot of the bed.

"Kaul, my husband, used to be an armor maker. One of the finest in the village because they were not only functional but looked impressive." She observed Loki, taking in his measurements and clicked her tongue. "I'm afraid everything we have is too big, though."

"That won't be a problem, I can change it with magic," he replied, standing next to her as she pulled braces and a loincloth from the chest. He took it from her and magicked himself into them with a blue shimmer. Her eyes widened at the use of magic, but she composed herself quickly.

"Now you really look like one of us," she said heartily and she pulled an apron over her head to start cooking. "I don't have much, but it'll be enough to sate yourself for the night. I'm sure once you join the rest of the army you'll have a good meal."

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Loki asked suddenly, causing Evere to pause and he could've sworn she looked embarrassed.

"Well…You don't exactly look intimidating," she said, referring to his height and stature.

"I betrayed your kind and slaughtered them on the spot," he said quickly, and she gave a small laugh.

"Yes, I suppose you did. Magic isn't common here—at least your kind. I can't seem to wrap my head around it."

Loki stared at her, dumbstruck and confused at the strange Jotun woman. She seemed more amused by him than anything else, or maybe it was perhaps another thing entirely. Either way, the company suited him.

"I am thought of as one of the most powerful sorcerers in all the nine realms," he boasted, seeing if that would strike a reaction, but she continued chopping.

"I could kill you," he jested lightly as a last resort and she finally glared at him.

"But you won't," she retorted with pursed lips, and a sinking feeling of nostalgia swept over him. No, he told himself firmly. That life was behind him, and for all intents and purposes, it shouldn't have existed.

_But it did_, he taunted himself.

Evere began to stir in the meat over the cast iron pot, causing her to lean over and wince in pain.

"Sit," he motioned, rising from his seat and took the ladle from her.

"But you're my guest—" She argued, but he gave her a stern look towards her stomach. Smiling, she sat down on the chair and watched him stir.

* * *

Loki moved his food noncommittally on his plate as he watched Evere gorge down her meal. It was strange seeing such a jovial face among the Jotun; for as long as he could remember, all he could imagine were faces of anger and violence.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Evere asked after finally finishing her meal. "I mean…You must've had servants to cook for you in Asgard."

He searched through his memories to answer her question, but he found that those skills didn't come from Asgard at all. If he wanted food, he would conjure it.

The memories flooded in again, and he felt himself swallow his answer.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't talk about Asgard," Evere amended sheepishly, and stood to gather his plate.

He shook his head. "No, it's not that. I…I didn't learn that on Asgard."

"Oh? Where, then? Alfheim? I hear their cuisine is lovely even though the elves don't eat often—"

"Midgard," he rushed out, and she widened her eyes.

"I thought it was forbidden. At least, that's what the stories say. That Asgard locked itself away."

"My circumstance was a bit different," he said with a wry smile.

"Tell me," she begged earnestly, sitting back down.

Loki felt his resignations tear away as his memories consumed him again, and he allowed a real smile to break from his features. Being with Evere reminded him far too much of Darcy even though their personalities differed.

"Did you meet anyone interesting?" Evere asked, leaning over the table that separated them.

"Oh, yes," he said in a far off voice enraptured by wistfulness. "I was married to a beautiful woman named Darcy Lewis."

"A mortal?" She gasped, but her expression was soft.

He nodded. "But the thing is, I was mortal too. Or at least I thought I was."

Evere was stunned and she cast a look out the window. "It won't be sunrise for long. Please, tell me your story. I swear I won't tell another soul; it wouldn't matter anyway," she said ruefully and her demeanor changed.

Loki tilted his chair back so that it rested on two legs. "It began in a train station."

"What's a train station?" She questioned in wonder.

"A place where lives converge and diverge amidst a sea of people," he said, his voice in another place at another time.

**I'm extremely sorry that this chapter update took so long. I'm a student, so life gets in the way. Thank you all for sticking with me and all of your kind reviews!**


	6. The Land of Ice: Part Two

It was late into the night when Loki nearly finished his tale. He spared many details; details that would go unnoticed by Evere whose knowledge of Midgard was scarce. However, if there was one thing that transcended the realms was the feeling of raw emotion, and he recited his story with as much of it as he could muster. What scared him the most was that he didn't have to reach too far to find it.

With only a small candlelight illuminating the space between them, his eyes were fluttering shut as he recounted small details. Evere was attentive, asked questions when necessary, but never ventured too far. And he appreciated that, and for the moment, he lost himself into the sea of words that used to flounder his mind.

"You should sleep. You'll need rest for tomorrow," Evere ushered, guiding him to the small guest bed in the corner of the hovel.

"We shall speak more tomorrow," she promised, giving him a small, but sad smile as she blew out the candle, and the familiar scent of smoke permeated his senses until it vanished.

He awoke with the sun that morning; it stopped snowing, and only a bright sky greeted them. Loki sat up and noticed a pot of stew with a hunched over Evere.

"We must leave soon. I was going to wake you when I finished."

He accepted the bowl graciously and sipped it, coming to terms with his situation. "Who is Lieutenant Morl?" He asked, referring to Laufey's command from yesterday.

"He's one of the most well-regarded Jotun and he's fought in many battles. Lately he's been training the men for the war," she said softly, clearing his bowl.

"Do you not support the war?" Loki asked at the sudden change in her expression.

"I…" She began, searching his face for deception, but he opened up a part of himself to her and her conscience acquiesced. "It would not be appropriate of me to say otherwise. But you must understand—I had hopes and dreams just like everyone else. My husband wants glory, and he shall get it at the price of death. There will be no victor, Loki. Asgard knows the tales well, and the Jotuns have prophesied it for as long as I can remember. This war is inevitable, but that doesn't mean I can accept it with open arms. Not when my child is near."

He met her words with silence as he turned away and she sucked in a breath of defeat. "We should go. Will you tell me the end of your story as we walk?" She asked, her eyes lighting with anticipation.

"Of course," Loki answered, stepping out into the abrasive cold.

"…She wanted a child. That was the only thing I couldn't provide," Loki said, his voice carried off by the wind as they trudged up the hill. One hand was on the small of Evere's back as he helped her up, his concern growing.

"Perhaps it's better that way," she regarded, taking another step. "You would have left the child without a father."

Loki had no reply to that, and the base of the camp was at the foot of the hill. "Will you join me?" He asked.

"Just for a moment. My husband is there."

"Since I do not think my story holds well for these ears, let me part with you here," he spoke sincerely, looking at her. "I wish you the best of luck, Evere. May your child be blessed with the strength of a thousand Jotuns."

Evere flushed marine and beamed back, "I'll let my child know that they have the blessings of the Prince of Jotunheim. Good luck to you as well. The journey will not be easy from here."

And from there, they parted as Evere made her way to the camp, asking for her husband, Kaul. Loki watched as a bulky Jotun male appeared from one of the tents and took his wife in his arms, looking at the swell of her belly.

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Morl," Loki said to a group of Jotun men who snickered as he walked past.

"You must be our new prince," one of them jeered, and Loki glared with indignation.

"I am. Laufey—My father—Sent me here himself. Now if you'll please—"

"Laufeyson!" A male Jotun barked, and by the state of his attire, Loki assumed he was the Lietenant. Cloaked in furs and metal, Morl walked with languid authority. Loki's eyes were immediately drawn to a scar that ran down his leg, but there was no sign of a limp.

"Yes," Loki said, facing him, noticing that the general was at least five heads taller than him.

"You will debrief our men on the state of Asgard. You will let them know every nook and cranny, every vulnerable part of every god and goddess. Any secret that would be helpful in this war, you will reveal them. Do you understand?"

"It would be my pleasure," Loki rebutted, a sly grin growing on his features.

"Good. Once warm ups are finished, we will gather at the center. Join the men and follow along. Just don't get in the way," he growled.

Loki was no stranger to work and physical work as no exception. The Jotuns' method of preparing for battle was not unlike Asgard's, if only more primal, and he followed along with ease despite his stature. True, he used magic to help him along, but that didn't matter as long as he accomplished the task.

None of the other Jotun bothered to converse with him, to which he only responded with equal hostility. He was a joke, and he knew it as well since a slap on the back would send him plummeting into the ground if he were not on his guard.

Thor's strength stemmed from his own powers, but the Frost Giants had brute force that could only be garnered from their species. Loki tried to remind himself that he was also one of them, despite his strange stature, and with this knowledge, he took his place at the center of the camp.

Speaking was one of his strong points, and he commanded attention as eager ears drank in the secrets Asgard held; to Idunn's apples, and to Thor's mighty hammer, he knew the gods and goddesses all too well.

Morl stood off to the side with a wicked grin, occasionally nodding every so often in Loki's direction and had a messenger take notes as Loki spoke. It would have taken years, maybe even centuries to reveal every detail, but he spoke as long as he could, letting his scorn guide him.

The soldiers were beginning to grow restless, so Morl dismissed them and ordered them to continue training, while others split off to craft more weapons.

"Our strength is invaluable, but so is a good weapon," Morl said to Loki, who he guided to the other warriors.

"However, our physiology is our greatest asset against our opponents." Loki recalled when Fandral was touched by a Frost Giant in battle; how it scarred and rendered his arm useless. If that Frost Giant had held on for just moments longer, Fandral would have surely lost a limb.

Loki was ordered to go train with the others, and this consisted of sparring. He watched as they threw forcefully punches, then followed by an ice spear. They never sought to fatally damage—they couldn't afford to do that, but the tact was all the same.

"You," one of the Jotuns gestured to him. "Join us," he said, swinging a punch to Loki's side, and Loki cloaked himself in flames on instinct.

The Jotun hissed back in fury and stared at Loki with menace. "That's cheating!" he drawled, taking another swing, this time with his arm enraptured with ice.

"How is it cheating if I'm using what I have?" Loki challenged, throwing a dagger into the Jotun's stomach. More attention from the camp drew to them, and a circle formed around their battle area.

"You're _weak._ Fight like one of us, you coward!"

Indignant, Loki clutched the snowy ground and launched his own spike of ice. It was miniscule compared to the larger Jotun, so it berated his chest and fell with a weak crack.

"You dare call yourself a Prince of Jotunheim when that's all you can do?" The Frost Giant stepped closer to him and pressed a foot on Loki's back, causing him to groan in pain.

"Get up and fight like a warrior," he said, pressing deeper. Loki clenched his teeth, and cloaked himself in flames again. The Frost Giant wailed in pain, recoiling immediately.

"Leave him to his tricks. Obviously he can't do more," said another Jotun, grasping Loki's opponent by the shoulders to guide him away. He spit into the ground and gave Loki one more look before turning away to the join the others.

"Laufey will be returning to the palace at sunset. Go meet him, your work here is finished," Morl said, helping Loki up with a hand. He gave him a pitied look, as if he only saw him as the poor misshapen prince of Jotunheim in that moment. Blinking, he continued, "Do you know the way?"

"I'll find it," Loki said through pursed lips and turned his back on the camp as he heard roars of laughter. Morl didn't urge for more conversation and turned away as well, leaving Loki to depart.

Time and weather was strange in Jotunheim. It seemed as if daylight only lasted for a few hours before the world was enveloped in darkness again, and dusk didn't seem to exist at all. He lapsed into another memory of the sunset from not only Asgard, but on Midgard. It was by no means a color show, but his memory prickled at the faint glow of the sun and the reflection pooled in the rivers of his old home.

_"That's why I moved here. The beauty, the atmosphere. It's all conducive to my imagination and I feel like I can really breathe around here, you know? You should visit again sometime. We could sit on my favorite bridge and watch the sunset. I'd draw, you could wax poetry-Sorry, am I being creepy?"_

_"No, not at all. That…That actually sounds really nice..."_

He was nearly the village, and he recalled that Evere's home was just beyond the hill. Debating whether to pay her another visit or carry on, he heard a shriek come from that direction, followed by a violent clatter.

Instinct took over, and he found himself by her home and a small light flickered through the window. She was crying—and there was another voice attempting to soothe her.

Dawning on him, he wondered if he should even go in, since he knew that birthing was not meant to be viewed. However, the wooden door of her home was kicked open vehemently, followed by a shout.

"I'll be right back, I swear. Please hold on!" Kaul was running from the house and towards the village, and Loki ran to meet him.

"Kaul!" He shouted, seeing the panicked look on the Jotun's face.

"Prince Loki—" He panted, not breaking pace. "This isn't a good time. Evere's giving birth but she is unwell. I am unfamiliar with childbirth, but she's so weak and she is complaining of the pain. I'm going to find the healer, so please excuse me—"

"I'll tend to her while you go," Loki rushed out, and the look of surprise on Kaul's face did not go unnoticed.

"If you're sure."

"I know magic," Loki affirmed, already heading back towards Evere.

She was collapsed on the bed when he found her, eyes closed and moaning with pain. "Kaul?" She managed to let out, blinking open one eye.

"He's heading towards the village. It's Loki," he said, sitting next to her, placing a hand over her forehead. Yes, she was very weak. Almost too weak to have the baby, and he swallowed with worry as she squirmed beneath him.

"I can't move. The baby is coming but there's nothing I can do…"

"Hush, just relax," he soothed, the tone in his voice a stranger to him. Moving his hands down her shoulders, he offered energy to her body, but it wasn't enough. Not for childbirth.

Attempting to find other means, he tried to remember what the healers on Asgard did. Asgardians never contracted illness, and the only reason why they would need the healers is if they were wounded in battle. Births were not as common, but they did happen and without complication.

Kaul stormed through the door with a healer at his heels, looking livid at Evere.

"Out of the way," she clucked, pushing both men aside and poked at the basket she had with her. There were a few bottles of medicine, ingredients that were unknown to Loki.

"You carry light," he observed and she shot him a weary look.

"Most of it has been stockpiled for the war. I brought what I could. Evere," she said in a gentler voice, moving her attention away from Loki. "Are you contracting?"

"I…think so. It hurts," she moaned, and the healer took a vial and placed two drops of whatever was in it into her mouth.

Crying out again, Kaul looked at the healer, distressed. "Isn't there anything else you can do?"

She shook her head. "We must wait."

"Will she be okay?" He asked, taking his place at Evere's side.

"I don't know. She is weak from the lack of food," the healer said with disdain.

Evere let out a scream and clutched her stomach, eyes opening with fear. "It's coming!" She cried, and the healer quickly shooed both Loki and Kaul out of the house.

Anxiety permeated the air as they both leaned against the side of the house, and Kaul strained an ear for a sign.

"What an awful time to have a child," he said as if scolding himself, and Loki could only agree with silence and they waited for another ten minutes.

"DO SOMETHING!"

Both men jumped from the animalistic cry, and they ran into the house. The healer was pale as she guided the child out of Evere, and her hands shook as she extracted the child. There was no crying.

"Evere, I can't—It's-"

Moaning, Evere collapsed into the pillows and Kaul rushed to her side, taking her hand and began to pray. Loki watched as the healer took the stillborn child from her womb and swathed it in rags.

"Evere's still in pain," Kaul begged, looking at both Loki and the healer.

The healer turned her head. "There is nothing I can do. Fate has her now."

Quick as lightning, Loki moved the healer aside and placed his palm onto Evere's stomach. "Evere, I need you to listen to me. This is going to hurt, but you have to be brave. You will live, I promise you."

She only wailed in return, and Loki began his process, letting his once dormant magic flow through him. It was dangerous magic, due to its nature and exctraction of his own energy, but he recalled the healing spells he once used. Simple, but how hard could it be to put more power into it?

With a final cry, Evere fell limp onto the bed, eyes closing and Loki's heart sunk the moment she fell. The air was silent, nothing moved, and the tears that fell down both the healer's and Kaul's cheeks ceased to fall.

"Ah!" Evere gasped, jerking upward, causing another jolt of pain to run through her. They all breathed a sigh of relief, and Loki ushered Evere to lie back down.

"How are you feeling?" He asked carefully as Kaul pulled a blanket over her.

"Alive," she said, wiping away her tears, but she paused in realization. "Where's the baby?" She asked, her voice cracking at the last word.

"He didn't make it," Kaul said, holding the small bundle. "He's so small, Evere. He wouldn't have made it even if he lived," he said, running a finger down the child's cheek. Loki's throat began to tighten up, and he rose to leave but Evere held him down gently.

"Can I see him?" She asked, reaching for the baby and Kaul warily deposited it into her arms. "He's beautiful," she whispered, holding him close. "So beautiful. You would've grown up big and strong just like your father…" Tears streamed down her face as she placed a final kiss on the child's forehead, and handed him off to the healer who went away.

"Thank you, Loki. I wouldn't have lived without your magic," Evere said with a sad smile, and patted his hand.

"We owe a lot to you. If there's anything you need, anything we can provide, don't hesitate to let us know, okay?" Kaul said, composing himself and extended his hand for Loki to shake.

Loki placed his small hand in Kaul's large palm and shook with confidence. "There's no need to thank me. I owe it to Evere for giving me shelter. I'm afraid I must leave now though, the king is expecting me," he said hurriedly, already making his way for the door, but paused before he opened it.

"Good luck," he said, turning to meet each of them in the eye.

"The same goes to you," Evere said, giving a small wave and Loki nodded in return as he stepped back into the winds of Jotunheim.

_He wouldn't have made it even if he lived_.

Was that what Laufey thought when he saw Loki for the first time? Or maybe he didn't even see him—maybe his mother knew from the moment he was born. Left alone to die in the cold tundra of Jotunheim only to be picked up by the king of Asgard. What a fate he had!

Swallowing, he followed the trail back into the village. Magic. Magic is what saved Evere, and magic is what drove him through life. And yet it was frowned upon here; not nearly as much as in Asgard, but even then, he was often teased for not wielding his own sword like the Warriors Three or even Sif.

But how could he be a coward when he used something that literally came from himself? If anything, wouldn't that make him stronger? He pondered, finding himself in the village square again.

**Only one more chapter from this Loki's POV, I promise :) Thank you all for sticking with me despite my erratic update schedule. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday!**

**On another note, I changed my pen name to match my tumblr url. I'm sorry if this caused anyone confusion, but I thought I'd let you know!**


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